


For Old Times' Sake

by apple_solutely



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Bathroom Sex, Blow Jobs, Cheating kink, Eddie Kaspbrak Has a Big Dick, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak needs to get laid, Established Relationship, First Time Kink, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Grinding, I'm so embarassed I wrote this oh god, Laughter During Sex, Light Angst, M/M, Memory Loss (sort of), Mentioned Benverly, One Night Stands, Pop Culture References because I am incapable of not including such elements in my writing, Praise Kink, Richie Tozier Cries During Sex, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Tozier is a Little Shit, Richie Tozier is a service bottom and I am correct, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Sexual Fantasy, Sexual Roleplay, Sexual innuendo's, Soft Richie Tozier, Sort Of, Top Eddie Kaspbrak, Topping from the Bottom, Wall Sex, because richie tozier wants that dick, sentimental saps, slightly porn with plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:07:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25266586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apple_solutely/pseuds/apple_solutely
Summary: The man looks behind him, basking in a theatrical display, and turns to Eddie again, pointer finger in the middle of his chest. “'You talkin’ to me?'” He says in such a perfect Robert Deniro impression that Eddie flounders for a beat.But because he doesn’t want to slip, Eddie raises an un-impressed eyebrow that doesn’t deter the spark of playful energy away in the ocean of his blue eyes. “Yeah, dumbass, who else?” Maybe Eddie sounds too harsh. Clearly it doesn’t scare him, though.***Or in other words, Eddie and Richie hook up in a bathroom at a gay club.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak & Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 24
Kudos: 174





	For Old Times' Sake

**Author's Note:**

> Almost didn't upload this because I'm shy and insecure about my writing :/  
> Also, fair warning, it might get a bit confusing but I promise it'll make sense in the end. I hope.

  
The surface of the bar is sticky with a substance Eddie numbs his mind from supplying an answer to. Instead, he runs a mantra through his head. Over and over. An eternal loop, knotting and aligning in familiarity that grounds Eddie until he can exhale without a shake in his breath. He pulls the sleeves of his jacket to the middle of his palm to fight the urge to scratch the layer of skin off. Eddie pinches the bridge of his nose.

_You wanted this. Man the fuck up, dickhead._

The barkeeper slides him his drink and Eddie throws it back like it’s one of his thousand pills, keeping him sane and subdued. But that’s just it. Myra was right. His brain’s in a blender on maximum power. However, when the heady thrum of music seeps into his bones and he sees a stranger—a man eye him up and down like a goddamn lollipop, he feels anything but insane. He feels wanted for the first time in his life.

It’s not a generally populated gay club. Eddie made sure to search for the most obscure and cheap one he could find. He shifted all his plans for tonight; got off work early, drove through an hour of traffic, and jittered all the way, looking over his shoulder like he was doing something wrong.

 _It_ is _wrong. You have a wife sleeping in bed at home! She thinks you’re out making money. A fucking business trip. You go back to her and it’s the end of your life. She could smell a lie faster than she could smell the cheap alcohol lacing your breath._

Eddie can’t bring himself to care enough.

He twists around in his stool after gesturing for another drink, resting his back on the counter. Just one more. Eddie wanted to feel loose not dumb. A lot of strangers here with dark eyes and shady backgrounds. They could take advantage of someone like him. Someone inexperienced. But maybe he wants to be taken advantage of. Maybe he wants to take advantage of someone else. 

_Yes_. Fuck, he needs it bad and his veins pump with the deliciously dark desire. A tug in his stomach hooks deeper as he watches two men grind on one another in the middle of the dance floor. Eddie sort of feels queasy—like his bowels are trapped and he needs to take a shit. They’re both sweaty. Bulging biceps. Black leather pants defining every ab and—Jesus, he can see the outline of their quickly hardening dicks. It’s porn. Live porn. The way they breathe together, so wrapped up one in another is what entrances Eddie, though. He’s never succumbed to that sort of intimacy. He wants to feel that moment when time freezes. That tender touch, and the eye-lock, and the bruised lips, so fucking lost that he can’t see anything else except the other person who wants to gift him just as much pleasure as Eddie wants to give back.

The music drums into his ears and knocks incessantly on the right side of his forehead. _Great_. A fucking headache is the cherry on top.

Eddie further blushes when the dancing men are hand-in-hand, drunkenly stumbling into the back where the bathrooms await, already quite handsy. What pulls him out of his cloudy thoughts is a small, condescending sort of laugh from two seats down. Eddie pinpoints the source—who just so happens to be a scruffy looking man who abruptly drops his entertained expression once being caught. His ears tinge pink and he’s as frozen as a deer in headlights. 

_Hmm_ …The man hunches into himself, compressing his broad shoulders, eyes wide behind his coke-bottle glasses. Flustered. If Eddie narrows his eyes, he can almost see the ghost of someone he used to know ages ago, except his brain hits a dead-end whenever he tries to clear the image displayed at the forefront of his brain. The man presses his lips over the rim of the bottle desperately—as if he knows he’ll need it. As if he knows Eddie will walk over.

And Eddie does.

The man runs a hand through his shaggy hair and fixes his glasses nervously at every step Eddie’s boots fall on the rusty wooden panels, the tapping lost in the beat of the music. He doesn’t sit down next to him and the stranger plasters on a wide smile in an almost too-confident manner to seem believable. But Eddie admired the spine and bold air he had about him. It’s intriguing enough. And he’s cute in a manner expressed as adorkable and nerdy without a certain attempt, in his trashy _Pulp Fiction_ t-shirt, his denim jeans paired with a bulky jacket and—holy shit. Birkenstocks. He's wearing Birkenstocks and dresses worse than a college frat-boy at a house party—it sort of reminds Eddie of the stoners from the movie _Dazed and Confused_. Eddie wouldn’t necessarily know anything about parties or events listed and described under the term ‘fun’. His knowledge comes from movies and the mouths of junkies and alcoholic drunks who talked big in hallways before classes started. Mostly, Eddie avoided them like the disease. 

Eddie drags his eyes away, biting his tongue as a misplaced win for holding back an amused smile at the ridiculous adornment. He’s got sharper eyes than Eddie presumes because as he follows his gaze, the man smirks as if they were sharing a private secret. He’s amused.

There’s a déjà-vu like rush that flows over him. Of a camaraderie, arms locked together, mischief and shrieks of complaints. A scratch tingles under his skin. Irritation. The words spill out of his mouth before he can control a single nerve. “Hey, fucknuts.” If it’s possible, the guy smiles wider, so giddy and free and childlike, Eddie has the sudden urge to hug him—and he’s not sure where that feeling came from. 

It’s scary. It’s alive. It’s _familiar_.

The man looks behind him, basking in a theatrical display, and turns to Eddie again, pointer finger in the middle of his chest. “'You talkin’ to me'?” He says in such a perfect Robert Deniro impression that Eddie flounders for a beat. 

But because he doesn’t want to slip, Eddie raises an un-impressed eyebrow that doesn’t deter the spark of playful energy away in the ocean of his blue eyes. “Yeah, dumbass, who else?” Maybe Eddie sounds too harsh. Clearly it doesn’t scare _him_ , though. 

Instead, he flicks his thumb over the sticker on the bottle, the tip of his fingers wet from the glass transitioning from cold to room temperature. He doesn’t respond and Eddie’s stomach stirs in frustration again. There’s a cigarette wedged in between his lanky fingers, creating a cloud of thin smoke around him. If he weren’t mysterious enough already, Eddie would’ve thought this certain element would do the trick. For a momentary pause, he contemplates. But not for too long for his body moves on auto-pilot when Eddie sits down next to him. His hands shake, still reeling from the electric shock of their knees knocking together as he does so. _Like they always used to_. 

Eddie swallows down bile. It’s not bad. Just foreign. 

When he inhales, he’s suddenly plunged in, sinking down into the smell of bitter cigarettes, warmth, bad beer—and so fucking _male_ compared to the sweet perfume and lavender lotion, it automatically sends the blood rushing to his dick. Shit. He really fucking needs to get laid.

“You were laughing. At me.” Eddie accuses all of a sudden, mind fast-tracking. _Now he thinks you’re a crazy person._

“Jeez. You’re an intense one, aren’t you?” The guy laughs, no wait, snorts in what should be considered as unattractive but Eddie is quickly learning the hard way (oh god) that, yes. This man. This man is important—

Eddie’s mind flashes to images of sun-tans, oiled grease on bikes, bruised knees, elbows digging into his sides, and the bark of laughter he used to correlate to the feeling of home. His hand itches to tuck back the flop of curly hair away from the man’s slightly sweaty forehead and throw an arm around his neck like…. _like old times_. He can’t seem to meet Eddie’s eyes though, cheeks flushed. But he tries his best, covering the rim of the bottle with his palm and resting his chin on the back of his hand with open and soulful eyes.

Oh, hell. He’s really fucking cute, then. 

He’s different. It isn’t usual for Eddie to meet people who look as if they’ll tell him the nitty, gritty details after a shared drink. The trauma of a big city and selfish assholes is what Eddie blames for his reserved nature. However, he knows it’s not the only reason. Eddie supposes he’s been this way forever…but maybe there was a time…When he didn’t wear his heart on his cheek as much as he did now. 

“If you must know. I laugh at inappropriate moments,” He replies to Eddie’s question, falling into a truce. Eddie braces, shoulders unwinding, “So, I wasn’t laughing at you. Or making fun of you....” He looks away again, “You scream gay-virgin.” 

“Because I don’t do this.”

“I know.” 

Eddie’s ring burns his finger like cigarette butts being stubbed on his freckled skin. “I haven’t done anything like this _at all_.”

The man narrows his eyes slightly, but not in a rude or serious manner. Playful again. Which is a fucking relief. He does not need the third degree when he’s been living inside a scorching oven.

“You don’t look like it.” He says and Eddie frowns, ushering him to continue. “You’re confident. And it’s not fake. It’s sexy.” 

Eddie doesn’t know how to respond, embarrassed. He sort of looks at him like he sees more of Eddie than what appears to be. “I’m not confident. I’m frankly losing my mind.”

“That’s okay,” He offers a sloppy side-smile. “No one here will judge you.” That’s for damn sure. “It’s not as if I’ve got my shit together, either.” 

“Yeah, I got that much,” He purses his lips and glances at the Birkenstocks again. 

He wiggles his toes with another loose, toothy smile. “They’re comfy.”

“Also so inappropriate to wear to a gay club.” 

“And you would know, right?” He raises an eyebrow, licking his lips in amusement. 

Eddie’s breath catches in his throat and he exhales his question, “What’s your name?” 

“Richie Tozier in the streets and Trashmouth in the sheets.” The man—Richie says quickly like the reply was on the tip of his tongue. He’s winking too, except it doesn’t work for his other eye crinkles. Eddie finds that terribly endearing and horrible for his heart.

“I think its Trashmouth for both.” Eddie pauses. “Based off the vibe you give off.”

Richie touches the frame of his glasses while Eddie watches him. He’s not sure why he sat down. Why Richie pulled him in like a fish on a hook. “Got me all figured out.” It’s a peal of breathless laughter. Shy almost in a way that told Eddie he’d been bullied to submission. 

“Have we met before?” Eddie asks, propping his elbow on the bar. 

Richie hums under his breath, “Don’t think so. Why?”

“You don’t feel that?” Eddie ignores the lurching disappointment. “Like your brain is pounding? Yelling at you to figure it out. Because I swear I could’ve—” He cuts himself off, eyes locking with Richie’s akin to a rubber band snapping.

And damn—those eyes. They really were something else. Cut from a gem, a kaleidoscope of deep emotions brewing underneath. Eddie could drown in them. It would be so easy too since he’s got asthma. One dip and it could end his life. And in the midst, there’s flecks of gray, like clouds on a stormy day and Eddie’s body hair stands up, involuntarily shivering at the intense beauty.

“No, I—” Richie scratches the top of his eyebrow, ducking again, “I don’t know why I said that...before. It’s dumb. Trying to be cool,” He explains with another chalky laugh. He squeezes his eyes shut briefly, wincing at himself, “I feel it.” Richie holds his breath. “You’re not crazy and if you are then I am too.” He trails off in a buttery tone of newfound vulnerability. 

Eddie tips his head down, crossing one leg over the other, which causes their legs to graze past, and Richie to shudder like a crushed leaf in Autumn. He takes a sip from his glass, heart thundering. “So, what do you do, Trashmouth?” 

Eddie thinks he sees Richie shiver again, mouth parting. He recovers in a second, replying tentatively, “Stand-up.” 

A look of caution has Eddie be hesitant. “Oh. Maybe that's where I’ve seen you.”

Richie shook his head, “I’m not particularly famous. What about you?” It’s clear there’s more to unpack but Eddie doesn’t take offense nor press for further details. Secrets are one thing he knows not to prod about.

“Risk-analyst.” 

Richie makes an astounded face, stubbing his cigarette in the ashtray after one last drag, “You’re fucking with me.”

“No, I’m not.”

“What the fuck is a guy like you analyzing risks for?”

“A guy like me?” Eddie feels a smirk curl over his mouth. 

“Well…yeah.” He replies lamely, “You should do porn.” Richie blurts crudely, causing Eddie to grimace. 

He nearly spits out his drink. “I’m sorry— _what?_ ” He coughs. “That’s disgusting!” Eddie coughs again, holding a fist to his mouth as Richie reaches over to rub his back. Eddie nearly has an asthma attack, body singing under the casual touch.

Richie catches how he stiffens, hand hovering on his back until Eddie presses himself into it, trying to appear braver than he seems. “Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it—and if you’re here, then you must be...experimenting in the least.” 

Eddie, once again, regrets being an idiot for not leaving his ring in the car. Why the _fuck_ didn’t he leave his ring in the car?!

_Because you’re twisted._

Richie pats his back once more before regrouping his hands to himself, “What do you do in your free time, then, Mister I-have-a-professional-job?” He asks in a certain voice Eddie can’t recognize nor decipher. 

Eddie does not in the least bit like being made fun of. To reprimand, he rests a hand on Richie’s lap, right above his knees. The muscle jumps under his palm, surprised and clenching as tightly as Richie seems to wind up with his whole body. Eddie carries on, rubbing his thumb in circles, “Oh, you know...read. Comics, graphic novels, and books mostly. And I like to tinker around in the garage. I volunteer sometimes at car repair shops.” 

Richie perks up excitedly at hearing this and it compares greatly to Myra’s judgment. She’s always nagging Eddie to quit. It’s not like he’s getting paid, but he’s doing what he loves and any excuse to stay out of their house is a chance he’d take without regret. 

Richie boasts loudly, “Dude, same! _V for Vendetta_ is still my favorite! And shit, you’re like a mechanic or something.”

“Or something.” 

Thoughts of Myra always has his mood sour. Eddie looks down at where he’s got his hand on Richie, utterly alarmed and disheartened. He removes his hand from Richie’s thigh but before he’s able to retract, Richie grasps his wrist, hands like a heater. Big and soft with knobby knuckles. The entirety of it encases Eddie’s own—and this is apparently _attractive_ for Eddie. Richie slides his fingers lower towards his tingling fingertips, leaving traces of goosebumps behind, and guides Eddie’s hand back, this time, a bit higher up his lap. This time, the muscle below is a live-wire, coiled endlessly.

_Oh._

They’re much closer than before. Practically nose-to-nose. Eddie flushes with the spark of arousal, unable to ignore the throbbing between his legs—and unable to not notice the bulge in Richie’s jeans. It’s obscene. Eddie’s mouth waters. 

That same playful spark in his eyes return, “So, is it true? Do mechanics like it dirty, Eds?”

Eddie says razor-sharp, “Not my fucking name.” His teeth grit. He wants to bruise his mouth shut. “And I’m not a mechanic.”

Richie shrugs, once again with this fake confidence seeping out of him. _How does he do that?_ “You know how to work your way around a car. That’s hot.” He waggles his eyebrows, “You could tune me...oil me up.” 

Eddie knows for a fact that when Richie spreads his legs, it’s not entirely on purpose. He keeps his face up, trained above so that he doesn’t lose control at the sight of anything below Richie’s navel. “Those innuendo’s are terrible.”

“You’re smiling.” 

“And you’re drooling.”

A sharp inhale of breath as he rubs a finger at the crevice of his mouth, “You’re a catch.” He admits freely, “I was popping a half-chub the second you walked in.”

“You were watching me the entire time?” Richie nods. Eddie’s breath comes out shaky, “Holy shit.”

“Holy fucking shit.” Richie nods again. 

“Are we insane?”

Richie grins ear-to-ear, enjoying Eddie’s virginesque of it all a bit too much, “For being attracted to dicks or for what’s about to happen?”

“What’s about to happen?”

Richie fumbles with a button on his jacket, not replying at first. The dynamic of Richie putting Eddie in charge is somehow an easy exchange without the help of words. It’s as if they’ve been here before, and as if they both know how the other person functions. Eddie feels drunk even though he isn’t. He made sure of it. But he can’t help but look at Richie with large eyes, a vulnerable tone, and not see someone he doesn’t trust. 

Richie isn’t a mind-reader. He doesn’t cower from Eddie’s heated gaze, either. “Do you wanna get out of here?” Eddie asks, the words flowing out of him as a gentle caress.

“And go where?” Richie asks, mirroring the soft tone, relief evident in the way he loosens his grip on the bottle.

“Anywhere.”

“Anywhere it is.” He replies.

Eddie parts his mouth, to make sure, greedy to hear Richie’s answer, “You really want this.”

Richie’s eyes move to Eddie’s crotch and back up at his eyes at a rapid-fire pace, “Judging by little Eds over there, I’m guessing you do too.”

“I’m anything but little.” Eddie doesn’t mean to, but he presses his heel deeper into Richie’s calf, causing him to grunt. If it’s possible, Richie grows harder—and—Eddie commits that observation to his brain for later purposes. 

Even with this _energy_ between them, Richie’s wit is cut-clean, “Neither am I.” 

“I’ll see that for myself, thank you.” Eddie replies sardonically. Richie laughs and it’s unabashed and unexpected. 

Yeah. Eddie is definitely losing his shit if his feelings are getting the best of him. 

He edges his glass away and gets up, looming over Richie. He’s taller than Eddie but right now, with Richie lower, it’s a good look and especially when Richie drinks down the last few sips, slim lips wrapped around the opening of the bottle and looking up at him with such a suggestion, it has Eddie’s mind wandering headfirst into dangerously sexual territory. He wants to swoop him into a kiss so dirty. Remove that smug smile. Have him chant Eddie’s name into his ear. To ruin Richie. And he wants Richie to ruin him in return.

Eddie places a featherlight hand in the middle of Richie’s broad chest, causing him to arch as if he were a magnet. Sensitive. Eddie knows him as such in an innate and indescribable fashion. He raises his hand, sliding it up and up until he feels Richie’s heartbeat pound on the area between his neck and his jawline, skin prickly from the stubble. Eddie brushes his thumb on the corner of Richie’s wet lips which separate on their own, leaving hot pants of breath on the pad of his fingertip. His mouth is soft and Eddie traces the outline, basking in the complete power and upper hand of control he has when Richie’s chest pumps up and down fast. 

Eddie lets go, springing his hand to his side like he just got shot. A breath releases from his mouth, blinking quickly with wide eyes. Jesus. 

Richie is still stunned, head and eyes cloudy. He blinks out of his reverie when Eddie backs away, and only revives when he finally registers Eddie’s message and intentions, hands vibrating when he slaps down paper money on the bar. He practically springs up like a cartoon character, as fast as Road Runner when he sprints after Eddie who’s making a beeline towards the bathrooms. 

The lights are dim here as well, in a mix of pink, blue, and purple galaxies coating their bodies and clothes. Eddie expected the music to be muted, except it’s more of a lower volume. There were definitely people fucking in here—he hears the frantic gasps and the slapping of skin—and Eddie should be disgusted, but the painful thickening between his legs has a mind of its own. Eddie fucking _needed_ this to be perfect. He promised himself before he left it would be a one-time thing. To satisfy himself so that he could know what it would be like. Just once. 

Warm hands circle around him, on his hips, and Eddie’s nerves sing, _Richie_ , recognizing his touch like second nature as he guides them into an empty stall. Richie kisses his neck from behind, peppering the salty skin below his hair with a tender notion Eddie doesn’t expect. He sighs, leaning back for more, once again, shutting off the logical segments of his brain. Richie’s fingers inch below his shirt, prodding up to the hard lines of his stomach, exploring fervently on a path to his groin. Eddie flips around with a needy groan to corner Richie into the wall until he’s flat like a pancake against it.

They’re nose-to-nose again, Richie panting like a wild animal, gently holding Eddie. His grip tightens gradually when Eddie massages his hands on Richie’s biceps, smoothing up towards his face—to cup it. He’s biting his lip raw and like this, pressed up, Eddie can feel him dark and powerful against his stomach. They dare each other almost—maintaining intense eye-contact. Richie raises an eyebrow as if to ask, _what are you waiting for, old man?_

Eddie closes the gap between them. 

It’s a simple feat for their mouths are open and ready from the beginning. They move urgently and desperately with a slight bit of understandable hesitance from figuring the groove of their pace out. Eddie bruises in, their teeth clacking, and for a moment he believes he’s being too forceful. His impatient, wired energy seeps in at all times and he can never reign it in. Especially not now when Eddie’s world is tilting at an axis in this earth-shattering period in time, inside this piss and shit-stained stall, contaminated with sexually transmitted diseases even Eddie couldn’t name. 

But. He can’t stop. If this is what it feels like, how can he?

Richie tastes like beer and smoke, and Eddie is lost in it, wishing he could devour him whole. Fuck fresh breath and mint toothpaste. This was real. He kicks a foot in between Richie’s legs, figuring that nothing in the world could get them as close as they wanted to be. Eddie wants to live inside him.

Richie is responsive in ways Eddie admires and sees as a good sign. He clings on, extremely vocal—which shouldn’t come as a surprise with the way he runs his mouth. When they break, they’re both panting hard like they ran a marathon. Eddie bucks forward, blood rushing down until he can feel both Richie’s pulse and his own in their cocks through the thick fabric of their jeans. Richie thumps his head back on the wall when Eddie shifts his pelvis to light them up like fucking Fourth of July. The friction is almost unbearable. Eddie cries out under his breath and Richie swears loudly.

“Fuck—that feels so good,” Richie mumbles as they move fluidly against one another, each slide delicious and heady that Eddie feels his vision blur. They breathe together, foreheads and practically every body part glued from the front.

“Top or bottom?” Eddie stumbles to ask, wondering how he can even think in a time like this.

Richie giggles abruptly into his neck, “Dude, have you ever even touched your own asshole?” Eddie flushes in response, mouth twisted in between a scowl and a pout. “Thought so. Go downtown, my friend. You have full permission to go all Indiana Jones on my ass.”

Eddie makes a face, sputtering, “You’re so disgusting.” He loosens his grip on Richie’s arm, “Do you have anything?”

Richie grins like a gorgeous picture, so easily debauched. “The mixed signals are giving me whiplash.” They pause with Richie’s leg hooked up around Eddie’s waist, while he searches his pockets. 

“Lube _and_ a condom.” Eddie breaths out once he sees the packet and bottle. The fact that Richie came out here, looking for this—and maybe it wasn’t Eddie. Maybe it was another stranger about to fuck Richie into the wall, pin him up like a pretty painting—

And they were right. How is it possible for them to feel _so right?_

“Just because you’re a gay-sex virgin, doesn’t mean I am,” Richie replies with that same curling smile that has a storm rage inside Eddie’s body.

Eddie fully enjoys the blank look he receives from Richie when he pulls out his own condom from his back pocket, “I may be a gay-sex virgin but I’m not a complete idiot who won’t bring his own supplies.”

“Dude, mine isn’t expired or some shit.” 

“I don’t fucking know that!”

“Well, mine is aloe-vera based.” Richie shrugs, “I get rashes.”

“Mine are too.” He says.

He pauses for a moment, brain gearing, “Wait—” Richie’s eyes widen comically behind his glasses. “Are you like... _big?_ Because—” Eddie raises an eyebrow and Richie swears, searching for the size labeled on the packet. He bites his knuckle down hard when he finds it, voice borderline hysterical, “What the fuck! You’re like a combination of every wet dream I have!—I mean, look at you! You probably work out like a machine!”

“I just like to stay healthy, that’s all.” Richie whimpers—fucking whimpers and loses his footing, reminding Eddie of swooning ladies from old, cliché movies.

Richie seems to be reassuring himself, “Okay...okay. I’m going to blame this all on you being married and desperate as the only reason I’m about be fucked by a Greek god—”

“I don’t know about being Greek but I _am_ part Polish...” He mutters absent-mindedly, resulting in a nervous chuckle from Richie who’s laugh immediately cuts off in its track when Eddie works to unbuckle his jeans. He unzips Richie, causing him to fist a handful of his gelled hair a bit too roughly. Eddie slides down, crouching as he raises an eyebrow, frowning at the pattern on his boxers, “Ice-cream cones? Really?”

Richie’s laugh sounds more like a choke, “They were on sale and I’m a broke-ass bitch.” 

Despite the random and bizarre nature of it, Eddie focuses on the front of his boxers instead, where it's soaked with a dark trail upwards. Richie’s thick, and his cock visibly pulse under the trapped garment. Shit. Was Eddie really out here? Or was this a figment of his fucked up imagination? He tests it out as he palms Richie’s thighs, pushing them apart and bunches up the cloth to kiss the warm inner skin. 

“Eds...” He widens his stance for easier access, thumb grazing Eddie’s ear. He takes the flesh between his teeth, tweaking as the tangy taste transmits, lightly rubbing Richie’s knees to comfort. “It’s okay, you’re doing good. You’re doing good.” Richie repeats, more for Eddie’s sake at this point. 

Richie knows him. Knows he needs the nudge to continue. Eddie hears him loud and clear, kissing a path deeper until the mouth-watering musky smell of Richie is all-encompassing. He flicks his eyes up to where Richie watches him closely with hooded eyes. Eddie maintains the contact, placing his mouth on Richie’s tented dick, wetting the already dampened cloth. 

“That’s—shit—okay. _Wow_ —Um—” Richie’s too lost to function properly. Eddie is thrilled at the prospect, more confident as he licks the bitter taste of him—numbing the screaming thoughts programmed inside his mind, yelling at him to stop. “Jesus fucking Christ—you’re so eager—holy shit—you came here to fuck someone and you choose me out of all of them. _Me_ —”

He kisses the tip appraisingly before tilting his head up, “Why is that so hard to believe? I trust you more than the other douchebag in here—and you and I both know there’s…” Richie’s eyes are glassy, brimming with emotion, and Eddie continues, “More to us…” He ends, desperation dripping off of him.

Richie shook his head, “I don’t know anything. I just know that you’re fucking hot and an up-tight looking pal.” A bit of an accent makes its way in, causing Eddie to frown.

He pulls more of Richie’s jeans down, revealing pale skin and dark wiry hair coated over muscular limbs. Eddie sort of wants to die if he can’t touch all of him right now. “Not as uptight as you think. You, however....” Eddie trails off and Richie keeps humming lowly like a car engine. 

“Oh, the innuendo’s are really doing me in. _Shit_. Believe it or not, I don’t normally get fucked on the daily.” 

"We can stop if you want—”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Richie replies a bit too loudly. He licks his lips and continues, “You know...the fact that you’re so calm right now is both super hot and scary at the same time.”

Eddie smiles from the corner, “I’m repressing my panic attack for later.”

“You can time that shit? Hell, you should teach me that sometime.” 

The breathless wonder in his tone suddenly throws Eddie off. The entire absurdity of the situation is off the charts and a bubble of laughter forces its way up. Before he knows it, he’s laughing, gripping Richie’s legs in order not to fall on the dirty floor. Richie quickly begins laughing along, and he seems a bit confused about it, resting his hands on Eddie’s shoulder. 

“Fuck you,” Richie says in between laughter.

“That’s my job, remember?” Eddie thinks he’s never had sex. He mustn’t have because this was starting to feel like something more than just a horny hookup. 

This was fun.

“Alright, alright. I’m the comedian here, remember? So fuck me before I take care of this myself.” Richie raises his eyebrows, cupping between his own legs. Right in front of Eddie’s face. 

“God, I can’t believe I’m about to have sex with you. Why the fuck do I want to have sex with you?”

“Beats me.” Richie breathlessly rips out, stroking himself languidly through his boxers.

“Are all comedians this self-deprecating?” He shot back. 

Richie loses his patience with an angry whine, and attacks Eddie’s jeans, getting them open and shimmying the material down, “Stuff it, Polish princess—”

“ _Princess?_ —”

“—because I wanna blow you so bad right now and if I don’t have your dick in my mouth in the next five seconds, I’m about to lose it—” Eddie’s brain screams: _service bottom, service bottom!_ Richie’s fingers pause, hesitant with gentle eyes asking for permission, “That’s okay, right?”

Eddie answers by crashing their mouths together, surging into their bodies and searing with a blur of frenzy fingers on warm skin. Richie is too stunned to reciprocate. “That a green light for you?” 

Richie nods like a bobble-head, dazed, and pupils blown out. He, then, focuses on the task at hand, urging down Eddie’s jeans and pressed plaid boxers that Richie snorts briefly at before kissing his way down and down. 

He presses open mouthes pecks on the jutted pubic bone, bending as he does so, “Look at you...fucking risk-analyst...” He reprimands as Eddie gasps, cock jumping up as if making it easier for Richie—for Richie’s mouth, and for more contact. “I bet your wife’s never touched you like this,” Richie says darkly, hoarse already and Eddie groans when Richie pulls the boxer’s down, freeing him. “Never put her mouth on you like I do.” 

“ _Fuck—fuck—fuck—_ ” Eddie clambers, thrusting forward eagerly so that Richie can fucking swallow him down— _please_. 

But Richie is an asshole. Of course. So he smiles that smug smile, eyes fluttering shut when Eddie entangles his small hands into his curly hair when Richie kisses the tip, sending a small firework that explodes all the way into the base of his spine and down to his toes. It’s like his show of appreciation the way he kisses him, tongue barely slipping over the slit with a hand coming up to grip him for easier access. Richie swirls the muscle of his tongue on the swollen head with coy lips that has Eddie teetering on the absolute verge of combusting into flames.

“You’re gonna fucking kill me.” Eddie chokes. 

Richie widens his mouth— _finally_ —and sinks more of him inside the wet heat. Eddie chokes again, hips faltering, and just when it gets good, Richie pulls off suddenly, a string of drool and pre-cum on his mouth connecting to the tip, “Pull my hair. Fuck my face.”

Jesus fucking Christ.

Before Eddie can nod and even begin to process that order, Richie’s taking him in his mouth again like he can’t help it. Like he needs to do this. And fuck he looks _so good_. He feels himself lose consciousness when Richie licks and licks, hitting the back of his throat. He drags his mouth off slowly as if sucking his soul out, and works below to start a wide lick from the base near the pubic hair and up the shaft—

“Fuck, you’re amazing—” Eddie’s breath is haggard as his senses decline. Richie moans around him, humming and pleased, “You’re so, so, good—” Eddie praises, wiping the wetness gathering at the corner of Richie’s eyes from how deep he’s taking him into his mouth. 

So deep that Eddie sees his cock slide past the inside of Richie’s cheek while it rolls inside, and he gags around it—too enthusiastic in the process, forgetting to breathe. Eddie sighs, about to tell him to relax but when Richie moans like he’s one getting his dick sucked, Eddie decides not to say a word. The muscles in his thighs and ass tighten and Eddie is so sure that any second now he’s going to blow and that isn’t how he wanted this insane night to end. At least not exactly like this. 

“Shit, shit, come up here.” He places a hand under Richie’s chin, guiding him while the taller man wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, licking the fluids off his lips. 

Eddie must seriously be on cloud nine because he captures Richie’s mouth forcefully, prodding deeper, unable to care about germs at a time like this. Richie gasps into his mouth, wrapping both beefy arms around him like he wants to crawl into Eddie.

“Can you fuck me now?” Richie pleads desperately, short-wiring Eddie’s nerves.

“I didn’t think you could be more impatient than me.” 

Richie pouts and Eddie sighs, dropping his forehead onto his slick chest. He grabs the condom from his pocket again, and Richie nearly trips when he rushes to tug down his own boxers. Eddie falters at the sight of him dripping on the floor, big amongst a thick bush of pubic hair, swollen red and staring up at him angrily. Oh. Eddie is struck by the lightning-quick thought rupturing inside his mind, imagining himself sucking Richie off. He’s not one to hold himself back and so he has to give himself a pat on the back for not losing it—because hell, Richie was going to be the death of him. And judging by Richie’s completely torn expression, Eddie can tell he’s not the only one feeling the frenetic charge of hunger.

Eddie rises to the tip of his toes to kiss him, two hands fisted into Richie’s jacket, tugging the larger man down. He lets Richie control this time, and they dissolve into a messy kiss that strikes a shock into his heart. He flings the anxiety into a locked chest in his mind and instead, grabs Richie’s hips, pressing them along one another again. Richie stutters at the skin-on-skin contact, breaking to chomp down a bit too harshly on Eddie’s mouth. 

Eddie didn’t mind. 

He pushed for more, groping under Richie’s shirt to touch everything he can. His hairy, coarse chest where he tugs at the strands, earning a sharp sigh, and soft stomach and down to his bare ass where Eddie spends the most time kneading until Richie sobs. Eddie generally runs warm but Richie is a furnace and his cheeks are flushed red in embarrassment and pleasure. He kisses down the stubble and sharp jawline, Richie’s vein jumping under Eddie’s lips and stopping at the collar area, biting down hard enough to leave a mark. 

He wanted Richie to remember. Eddie wants to remember. 

Eddie rips the condom packet, and it echoes in the bathroom, mixing in with the other groans and moans. “Are you...? Do I need to...?” His own eyes are owlishly looking up at Richie who smiles. 

“How cute. You can’t say it can you?” Richie turns his face to the side a bit, giggling under his breath. Eddie scowls. “I’ll save you the trouble, hot-shot. I came prepared.” 

Eddie mumbles against his mouth, a feral part of him waiting to pounce out at hearing those words, “Me, I understand...But you? If you’re such a gay-sex expert, why are you so eager?” He uncaps the bottle of lube.

Richie buckles, trembling with a cloud of lust. He slides his good leg—his right leg around Eddie’s waist again and this time, Eddie’s prepared for it, holding the limb up in place. Richie’s whole body is vibrating, pulsating and he can barely slide the condom onto Eddie’s dick without help from him. Eddie’s going to pop a blood vessel any point now because the latex material of the condom wraps all too tightly over him—he’s harder than he's been in _his whole life_.

“Because it’s you,” Richie whispers into his ear and it’s Eddie’s turn to shudder. He seems to know exactly how to make Eddie tick. “Because you looked fucking helpless. Took one look at you—” Eddie kneads apart Richie’s cheeks, slicking them up to mount himself and sink the tip of himself into his rim. Their breaths mix wetly. Eddie can’t tell up from down and they’re so fucking close, he feels everything—and everything is _divine._

Richie gathers his voice with great effort, “Took one look at you and I thought: that man. He’s fucking gorgeous. He looks lost....let me—” Eddie bites down on Richie’s shoulder when he slides deeper. Richie squeezes around him, swearing so fucking loud, Eddie is embarrassed by the glorious victory of accomplishing such a wanton reaction. Richie meets his eyes, the urgency of his pants stronger, matching his firm grip on Eddie’s cheek, “Thought...he looks lost...let me show him a good time.” Eddie buries himself to the hilt, pausing to get used to the feeling as Richie screws his eyes shut, words glued together from how quickly he’s saying them, “Saw that ring and your sad doe-eyes. Knew what you needed right away. Knew she didn’t know how to give you what you needed.” 

“Richie—fuck— _Richie_ —” Eddie bottoms out, rolling his hips, making Richie shout and wind his leg tighter around his waist, barely holding on in the first place. Eddie briefly praises himself for being as fit as he were, imagining this going in a very different direction otherwise. 

“Oh, _fuck me gently with a chainsaw_. It really gets you off when I talk about her, doesn’t it?” Richie asks, gleeful, awed, and turned on, “You _want_ to hear how sick and tortured you are.” 

Eddie growls, “Don’t kid yourself. You’re enjoying this just as much.” He fucks in harder, kissing Richie with a possessive fervor, and Richie loves it. He pounds the stall wall at each thrust, his back sliding up every time Eddie slams in, pulling their weight. 

“You gotta seriously consider porn, Eds,” Richie says in between sharp breaths, eyes rolling back.

“Ugh—Shut up— _shut the fuck up_ —” Eddie hisses. He was so close. _So fucking close_. 

“Come on...” Richie manages, hands creeping over to Eddie’s ass, pushing him more inside, “Your mom could fuck me better than that.”

“ _What the fuck,_ Richie—” Eddie snaps his hips, and Richie’s chuckle diverts into an echoing yelp. “Fuck you. _Fuck you_.”

“You’re all talk and no—” Richie continues like the utter dipshit that he is and Eddie attempts to build the momentum just so that he could shut him up. 

A waterfall of drool trails down Richie’s mouth and down his chin with a pleased sob. There are tears pooling behind the fogged glasses as Richie whispers a garbled version of a piercing, _yes_. The fact that Eddie’s probably hurting him doesn’t entirely sit well but since Richie takes it so enthusiastically, pleading for harsher thrusts, makes Eddie feel good about how dirty this all was. He’s sure the stall wall will break off from its hinges at this point, with how they’re rocking against the flimsy structure. 

“Fuck—wait, wait.” And Richie shifts a bit with a wince, palming his lower back. “I’m so sorry—I’m seriously out of shape.”

Eddie stops immediately as Richie gently eases him out to push him down on to the close-lidded toilet seat. Eddie stops, a sour expression as he stares at the dirt and grime on the seat. He does a full-body shudder, whipping around at him, “I’m not fucking putting my ass on that thing!” Eddie squeaks, folding his arms. 

Richie cups his face, kissing him, “I wanna ride you.” Eddie blinks, recalibrating, “And I’m too old for that shit—gonna pull a muscle.” He murmurs, kissing him. “Please?” He pleads lowly. Eddie thins his lips. “Please? I promise it’ll be good.” 

Eddie kisses him back, relenting. He’d already stepped past every boundary he’d created for himself. Now or never. “Fuck it.”

Richie grins, “I hope not. I would appreciate you fucking me instead.” 

“Such a wise-ass...” Eddie scolds, shrugging off Richie’s jacket and throwing it over the seat as if it were a towel. He grips Richie’s wrist and brings him down. 

“Only for you.” Richie doesn’t complain about using his jacket. He widens his legs and places one on each side of Eddie’s lap, bracketing him. 

“You just want to make me do all the work, asshole— _Oh shit_ —” Eddie is rendered speechless once Richie begins lowering himself smoothy down in one go. Eddie thinks he might pass out—what the fuck. _What the actual fuck_. 

“ _Fuck yes_ , that’s the good shit.” Richie cries out, throwing his head back. Their balls are practically glued together from how deep and wet they are.

Eddie releases a guttural sound from deep in his throat, scared to move because he’s sure it will take two strokes and he’s gone. Richie circles his pelvis above him—while Eddie’s fucking buried— _pistoning_ inside. “Richie!” Eddie shouts, the pressure around his dick sharp while Richie attempts to build a faster pace. So fast that the slapping of skin is all they can hear for the longest time. “Oh my go—” 

It’s music to his ears, hearing Richie chant Eddie’s name like a prayer. He fits so tight and hot, the beginning of his orgasm tingling. The speed was almost brutal and Richie is wrecked as Eddie is sure he’s touching home-base every single thrust, their kisses getting sloppier and torturing— _hungry_.

“Yes, yes!” Richie says, bouncing up and down, meeting Eddie half-way desperately, his hands bearing down on Eddie’s shoulders powerful enough to leave purple bruises. 

The toilet seat creaks under their weight and pressure, but Eddie can barely worry about them breaking it when—“I’m close—are you?—”

Richie nods fast and reassuring with wide pupils, “I’m so close, I’m about to see stars.” 

Eddie groans, kissing him and kissing him. “Come on, come on.” He’s dripping with sweat, and Richie’s leaking and leaking like a broken pipe between them, his cock slippery as it slides on Eddie’s chest. 

He’s being swept away under the current of exquisite pleasure straining low in his groin like a pressure cooker about to blow. Richie’s whines echo almost too-loudly and Eddie wants to shut him up and coax more of it at the same time, hating and loving how everyone could hear how Richie begged. _For him_. 

“Eddie— _Eds_ —” He’s a blubbering mess above him, rocking to a quicker beat as Eddie attempts to keep up—because he _can_. “Shit—you’re perfect.” 

“Look at you.” Eddie says between them, sliding back the curling strands of hair away from Richie’s view, “Look at how well you take me. So eager for my dick—Using me like your sex toy—” Richie writhes, mewling, “Come for me, Rich. Come on—” Eddie hisses again pumping Richie’s cock once tightly in a smooth slide and it apparently does the trick. He stutters, and Eddie laces their fingers tight-enough to cut off all blood circulation.

“Halle—fucking— _lujah_ ,” Richie rides it out and sings in a whisper-shout, clenching around Eddie in a vice-like grip while streams of come spurts up onto Eddie’s shirt and chin.

Richie’s orgasm goes on forever it seems. His back bows, straining while a loud sobbing sound rips through his mouth. Eddie follows closely behind, jerking his hip, slipping over the edge when his own orgasm crashes, spilling inside the condom and inside Richie who is collapsing on him like dead weight. Their chests heave up and down, blood pumping, and bodies like lightning in a bottle with the way they’re violently trembling. Eddie sees dark spots around his vision from the lack of oxygen. He feels so fucking dirty and gross except also, the most content he’s been in his life. They sit in this position for a while, stunned, and processing what they just did. 

“Holy...shit.” Richie puffs out, all wheezy as their auditory systems replace their heartbeat with the music playing on the speakers. 

“Holy fucking shit.” Eddie parrots. They’re both whimpering, and Eddie’s throat feels scratchy from all the shouting and heavy breathing. Relief like no other pours inside his organs and relaxes him better than any Xanax ever could. Fuck that shit. 

“That…was for every time you told me…” Richie pants, kissing the inner skin of Eddie’s neck with a lazy and fucked out motion, “….role-playing would be boring—” Eddie smooths a hand through the sweaty mop of his curls, over and over. Richie purrs like a cat. “How awesome are we?”

Eddie smiles, “Yeah, sweetheart, we still got it.”

“Fuck yeah, we still got it!—And _fuck_ anyone who says marriage makes sex boring!”

Eddie’s heart swarms with affection. He kisses him tenderly while their breathing slows, bodies cooling once again as Richie grazes a hand onto Eddie’s chest, rubbing up and down the scar with a look which could only be described as loving. Richie presses the tip of his fingers to his lips, transferring the kiss to Eddie’s scar.

Heart-tingling, Eddie sighs, bittersweet as he catches a tear slipping out of Richie’s eye, “I can’t believe you’re crying again—I swear, Rich, it’s like a Pavlovian response. You’ve given me a kink.”

He pouts, chasing Eddie’s mouth, “I’m emotional and it’s our wedding anniversary.”

Eddie peruses an exaggerated look, “Every time, Rich. Every time.” 

“So fucking sue me.” 

Eddie, despite himself, chuckles and kisses the tip of Richie’s nose while wiping away the already drying tears on his pink cheeks—fixing his glasses while he’s at it.

Richie clears his throat, “Really, as far as kinks go, it’s not as bad.” He says with a wink. 

Eddie rolls his eyes and it strikes him then as he pays attention towards the music, noting the unmistakable familiarity of the song. He groans, pulling away from Richie’s mouth with a smack to make a face at his husband. 

“You didn’t. Tell me you didn’t fucking ask them to put on our _wedding playlist!_ ” His voice raises near the end, incredulous and loud. 

Richie beams, biting his lip, and this is all the answer he needs. “Baby, do you know me at all?” Eddie groans again. 

“I’m getting flashbacks.” He whines, hiding his face in the crook of Richie’s neck. 

“It’s cute. And romantic.” Richie corrects.

“I’m not going to be able to look that DJ in the face.” Eddie continues, staring off into the distance with horror.

“Quit being a drama queen.” A dopey expression lights his face, “Remember when we danced to this song with Bill?”

“Do not fucking remind me!” Eddie warns dangerously. He’s not even surprised at this point, to see Richie’s dick twitch at the rough tone. Jesus. A fucking complex. “I still can not believe you played an Italian song about blowjobs at our _wedding_.” 

Richie giggles freely, reaching over to grab the wet wipes Eddie always carries in his pockets. He wipes Eddie’s shirt with it, removing the come, “My parents were so into it.”

“Of course they were! _They’re your parents_.” 

“Oh come on...” Richie tilts his head to kiss Eddie’s forehead, cheeks, and neck in exactly that order. “The other songs were good, though, weren’t they?” 

“'Daddy Be Cool', 'What is Love', and 'Who Let the Dogs Out' are a few of the most inappropriate songs to play at a wedding.” He deadpans, “I saw that in an article once.”

“So you keep reminding me,” Richie says, throwing away the foiled wipes and joining their free hands in between them. Eddie kisses the back of Richie’s palm, admiring their matching rings with an overwhelming tug on his heart. The engraved silver letters ‘R+E’ shine in the low-lights. “Didn’t stop you from smiling ear-to-ear the entire time.” 

“Yeah, yeah.” Eddie shrugs it off, “At least it was better than the time Beverly thought it was a good idea to trust you with their wedding playlist and you added 'Please Don’t Go Girl'.”

Richie exclaims, ready to defend his honor with the same predictable reason since they have this so-called ‘argument’ at least every year, “It’s New Kids on the Block! It’s poetic justice!”

“Poetic justice my ass.” Eddie huffs, “Can you get off of me now, my legs are gonna fucking fall asleep.”

“You’re so sweet to me.” Richie coos, kissing twice on his left cheek, adding a ‘mwah’ sound effect for each one. Eddie smiles involuntarily at the action. 

“Yeah, well, you’re the one who wanted me to be rough.” Eddie drawls, linking his arms around Richie’s waist, “Who begged me to fuck you in a bathroom stall.” 

“Alright, but you admitted to your ‘cheating on Myra’ role-playing kink. And let me just tell you—” Richie whistles obnoxiously, wholly amazed. “I don’t know where the _bumfuck_ that came from but _damn_.”

Eddie’s cheeks dot with color but he smiles, “As I said before. You enjoyed it just as much.” he says, pressing his mouth along Richie’s smiling one, pecking tiredly, “The other bit was good too…You liked being the experienced one...” He pulls at Richie’s mouth with his teeth, voice dark and low.

Richie groans frustratedly, unable to put it into words. He pants, “Reminds me of how we started. Remember how cute and innocent you used to be?" Eddie smirks. "I mean, don't get me wrong. I like you in charge, and I'll never get over how kinky and sexual you actually are, either. And the way you grabbed my lap like that back there? Hell, I nearly creamed my pants on the spot.”

“Yeah, to teach you a lesson for making fun of me like that—” He draws back, “And why do you sound so surprised about me liking this? It’s not like I was complaining.”

“Really? Cause that seems to be all you—”

“Watch it, Trashmouth.” Eddie snaps and Richie eyes the pointed finger at his face, pupils dilating, making Eddie purse his lips, “Speaking of—Trashmouth? Why am I learning this ten years into our marriage that it’s apparently a thing?” 

Richie makes a face, pouting—and Eddie wants to either kiss those puffy lips or shove his dick down his throat. “You never tried—and shit this whole night was a learning experience for both of us. We haven't had to use condoms in ages and I clearly under-estimated the size of your dick—and trust me when I say I’m more annoyed about that than you are. I thought I had that pretty thing engraved in my brain. Clearly not. _Fucking XL_.” He ruefully chides. 

Eddie huffs out a small laugh, “We know each other pretty well.”

“And yet we still find ways to surprise one another.”

“I love that,” Eddie responds immediately with candor, pondering deeply over it. It’s a thought that he’s gathered an opinion about before. Richie smiles when he continues, rubbing the pad of his thumb on Eddie’s palms, “It means we’re growing together and it’s not boring.”

“Hells yeah, it isn’t,” Richie says and circles his hips again, causing Eddie to wince from over-stimulation. He claws his nails into the soft flesh of Richie’s pelvis, leaving crescent marks. Richie exhales in awe, “I can’t believe I got you to fuck me in a bathroom at a gay club.”

Eddie’s frantically losing brain cells by the second over how Richie’s gyrating above him, “Keep that up and you might just get fucked twice in a bathroom at a gay club.” He’s not sure if he’ll keep that promise but Richie squeaks and it’s so worth it.

“I could go all night, baby.” He winks and Eddie rolls his eyes, affronting him with a look. 

“Are you sure about that, sweetheart? I don’t want to have to fuck you in your sleep.”

Richie perks up, “Oh, _yeah_. I would totally be into that.” Eddie can’t tell if he’s serious or not. “But, I really am exhausted.” He lolls his head onto Eddie’s shoulder, “You’re going to have to carry me back home, and tell Bev and Ben they’re angels for keeping our girls for the night but we can’t pick them up at ten cause we’re going to sleep like the dead till noon.”

Eddie shakes his head with an amused smile, “I’ll text them when we get home.” Home. _Their_ home. _RichieandEddie's_. “And carry your ass like I do every day.” Richie pecks him with a grateful smile and Eddie pumps his hand, “You better know how much I love you, Richard Tozier-Kaspbrak.”

“Oh, I do, Edward Kaspbrak-Tozier. I fucking do and a hell lot more than that.”

Eddie narrows his eyes, “If you cry again—”

Richie cuts through with a suspiciously wet sniff, eyes watery, “I’m a bit tipsy and they’re playing our songs and you’re here, still balls deep inside me—” Eddie snorts, “—and I love you so much. I’m so happy. You make me so happy—like fuck—you did this all for me. You do _everything_ for me.”

“Look at how big your forehead is. Do you think we need to inflate that thing more?” Richie pinches Eddie’s nipple half-heartedly, making him guffaw, “Let me remind you that not everything is about you.” He pauses to grasp both sides of Richie’s face in his hands—to grab Eddie’s whole world into his palms. “I enjoyed this. A lot, Rich, because I enjoy everything we do together. This definitely comes up as one of best sex we’ve had.”

“I bet we could top it,” Richie says in a way Eddie recognizes far too well. Richie’s been challenging him and getting them both into trouble since they were seven. Eddie hasn’t backed out once and he won’t plan to ever. 

“I bet we could,” Eddie nods, “Just by knowing how horny we are.”

“Got a lot of years to make up for…”

Eddie hums in agreement, “You’d think our dicks would’ve shriveled off by now. Fucking fifty-two years old— _Jesus_.”

“There’s a reason I’m called Richie ‘dick’ Tozier-Kaspbrak. That thing’s gonna be on the fucking shelf till the end of time. And I bet on my Emmy, our souls would be fucking, long after we’re dead.”

Eddie laughs ridiculously at that, unable to help himself, “Where the fuck do you come up with this shit?”

“I don’t fucking know, dude.” Richie looks so happy, Eddie thinks it might be his turn to cry. 

Yeah, he’s definitely tearing up a bit. He can barely swallow past the golfball deeply rooted in his throat. “I love you, I love you, I love you.” He repeats, words laced with emotion.

Richie’s bottom lip wobbles. He gasps upon hearing those words every time as if it were the first time. “You’re the best, Eds. I love you so much.”

“Happy ten years, Rich. My big, brave, husband.” He kisses him, “My best friend. My favorite person in the whole world.”

Richie sniffs, laughing, “Happy ten years, my love. You’re the spaghetti to my sauce, the pot to my kettle, the vacuum to my cleaner—”

“That doesn’t even make sense!”

But Richie laughs and laughs and Eddie wants to stop time. Freeze frame this moment and ingrain it to his memory. Ten years of marriage and over forty years of being hopelessly in love. What a life. What a fucking life, indeed. 

**Author's Note:**

> Oh god, I'm sorry it got so fluffy in the end, but I am also incapable of not writing sappy shit.  
> Feel free to comment and let me know what you all think :)  
> The Italian song about blowjobs is called Kobra by Rettore. I know very little Italian, so I'm not sure if it actually is about that, but I read that it is on two different websites.  
> 


End file.
